


Black Horse

by Corvid_Knight



Series: Demonstuck [29]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Demonstuck, Innuendo if you squint, M/M, MeetCute, i think they're cute, well kind of cute
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-18
Updated: 2019-11-18
Packaged: 2021-02-12 21:37:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,592
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21483232
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Corvid_Knight/pseuds/Corvid_Knight
Summary: Instead of continuing the discussion, Equius just nods and steps back again, off the edge of the parking lot and into the margin of grass around it. He reaches up and wraps the silver chain half around his hand, drawing the pendant on the end out from under his shirt, letting you see that it's a simple silver ring, maybe three inches across. It looks almost familiar, you think, but you don't have time to run down exactlywhyit's familiar before Equius closes his eyes and the reality of this particular dollar store parking lot shimmers, warps, andchanges.Hal gets stranded in a dollar store parking lot and meets a guy who's willing to help.
Relationships: Hal Strider/Equius Zahhak
Series: Demonstuck [29]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1003470
Comments: 26
Kudos: 138





	Black Horse

"Stubborn piece of shit." 

It's not the starter. You're not out of gas. 

"Stupid assfucking hunk of rust." 

The oil's at an acceptable level, if not an optimum one. The damn thing's not even making an attempt at claiming it's overheating on the brief occasions when it actually starts. 

"Bitch ass half-assembled douchey clunker." 

You're running out of things to examine. You're also beginning to think that this is just some sort of fucked-up karma for borrowing Dirk's vehicle, except that this time you really _did_ ask first. Shocking, you know, but Rose has your car and you needed to do a store run. It was truly necessary, too—Davesprite needed a distraction, something to cheer him up, and you're the most focused person available to pick that something up. 

Which you did. That wasn't even close to a problem—the cake mix, patterned cupcake liners, sprinkles, and base components of buttercream frosting are neatly bagged in the front seat, ready to be delivered and utilized. Unfortunately the truck doesn't seem to intend to cooperate with the delivery part of that scenario, which leaves you standing here swearing at it as if that's going to be more effective than your actual mechanical prowess. 

...actually, you know what, you've had enough. You withdraw from where you're half-sprawled in the inadequate shade of the hood, wipe your hands on your jeans (remembering just a _second_ too late that there's grease smeared all the way up to your elbows) and punch the _shit_ out of the hood. 

"Fuck!" 

You may have forgotten to turn your pain sensors down/off before you did that. Fucking _hell_ does that hurt. You ran out of original obscenities twenty minutes ago, but right now you don't really mind repeating yourself. 

"...excuse me." 

Oh. Well, shit. Your mouth snaps shut as you turn to see who's about to castigate you for your tirade. 

...you have to look up to meet his eyes, which is interesting. Even more interesting are the eyes themselves—the deep, cool color of antique cobalt glass held in the sun, stunning against the deep tan of his skin. His hair is the dark light-eating black of a pool of oil, braided intricately back save for a few strands that've escaped; it frames a face that wouldn't look too out of place on the cover of a romance novel, the old-school kind where the entire purpose was to portray a specific genre of ruggedly idealized appeal. 

Holy fuck. 

However, there's still two more observations you need to log before you can make any sort of move whatsover here. One, the sleevless shirt he's wearing may be grey, but it's stained in three places with what is unmistakeably engine oil or some close equivalent—if he's about to offer his help, there's a decent chance he'll be able to succeed where you've so far failed. Two, he's pinging _significant_ alarms in your cryptid-detection sensors. 

That should probably count as a mark against him. Then again, it's not like you're human either. 

"Hey there." Before you think better of it, you hold out your hand for him to shake. There's still a decent amount of grease smeared across it despite your halfassed attempt to wipe it clean; Mr. Hot Cryptid Mechanic shakes it without hesitation anyway. His skin's warmer than human, he's got a nice strong grip...mmm. "Hal Strider. I'm having a bit of a rough day." 

Wait. Shit. If he's one of the fair folk you're probably about to be in extremely deep shit. 

But no, he just smiles (flashing too-sharp canines that don't seem to be placed quite correctly in the process; not only is he not human but he's definitely carnivorous) and lets go of your hand. "Equius Zahhak. Do you need some help?" 

This feels like a good opportunity to subtly fish for information, right? "Depends on how I'd be paying the favor back." Wait, no, that's a clear setup for flirting. Some important wires may be slightly crossed. If you don't get a date out of this you should have Roxy take a look at that at some point. 

Going by how confused he looks right now you won't be getting that date out of this either. God damn it. "...I have no idea what you're talking about." 

Ooookay, maybe if you make it a bit more obvious. "I'll rephrase: if you get this neglected hunk of rust to run long enough for me to ram my brother with it for letting it get into this state, I'll buy you diner at the venue of your choice?" 

"Oh. Oh!" God those eyes are so pretty, especially when there's an almost-literal spark of understanding lighting them up. "That's...a proposition." 

"It is." 

"A serious one." 

"Oh, definitely." 

"...how about I fix the vehicle and _then_ we discuss it in a bit more depth."

* * *

You come to the conclusion that even with the toolkit he brings over, Equius is not going to be able to get the damn thing running fairly quickly. It takes you maybe half an hour of watching him patiently check each thing that you've already tested and dismantle bits to get to more things to test before you come to that conclusion; he's obviously more optimistic than you are, because he takes another fifteen minutes before he finally gives it up as a lost cause. 

By the time he huffs out a groan and straightens up from the now-partially-disassembled engine, you've given up on pretending that you're adding anything useful to this situation and moved up to settle on the comfortable perch that the roof of the truck affords. From here he has to look up at you to give you the wry smile that signals that it's time to dig out your phone. 

"No luck?" 

"Absolutely none." 

"That's okay. I'll still buy you dinner." 

That adorable baffled expression flashes across his face again. "I don't really know if—" 

"It's called asking you out, Equius. I'm trying to angle for a date." You finish scrolling down your contact list and turn your phone off again. "Maybe a ride home too, if that's okay? My family seems to be otherwise occupied at the moment." 

"That seems fair." He shrugs and slams the hood down again, brushing a dark strand of hair back from his face. (You want to wince. If it was any color but black, there'd be an obvious streak of oil now.) "Do we need to wait for a tow truck?" 

"No, it'll be fine." You hop down off the roof, giving yourself a little shake to recalibrate after the impact, and lean into the passenger seat to collect your purchases. While you're in there, you pop the glovebox open and grab the delicate little bottle Rose made up, smashing it against the dash. 

It's surprisingly anticlimatic, if you're going to be honest—just a brittle _crunch_ and a tiny puff of what looks like dust and smells like nutmeg. Maybe it is nutmeg, at least partially—you're not up on your spell components. It definitely works, though; magic rises up around you as you slam the door and step back, weaving into a barrier that you can almost see. 

Equius is outside the ward's influence, but he very obviously feels it too. You really hope the wary look on his face doesn't mean you just trashed any chances you might have had for a future date. 

Damn, you really do have to offer some explanations right now...so you raise both hands (fully conscious of how idiotic that looks, since you've still got dollar store bags full of baking supplies in either hand) and stand very still, arranging your face into a matching nonthreatening expression. "It's full disclosure time, isn't it." 

"That would be nice, yes." 

"Okay, neat. Full disclosure: yes, I'm a hunter. No, I'm not fully human—it's usually between fifty-four and sixty-three percent depending on how you measure. Yes, I'm still holding out hope for that date." 

Equius stares at you for a few seconds. Then he reaches up to pinch the bridge of his nose, miraculously managing to not smear black grease across his face. "Anything else?" 

"Hm. The ride I'm hoping to get would be to a safehouse." 

"Of course. I have several regrets right now." 

"Ouch. If it helps, I'm still vague on what exactly _you_ are." 

"I feel like that is probably the only positive thing I have going for me right now, Hal." 

"Again: _ouch._" Wow, you never thought that being truthful was going to be the thing that fucked your potential prospects up this immediately. "Does it help if I tell you my brother's dating a demon?" 

"That's not—wait, the one you borrowed the truck from?" 

"No, the other one. Well, one of the other ones." 

"Since when do hunters have large families, exactly?" 

You open your mouth to answer that, think about how you _can_ answer it for half a second, and laugh instead, letting your arms drop back to your sides. "It wasn't entirely intentional, if that helps at all." 

"...you have a _very_ strange idea of what's going to help." 

"That'd be why Rose and Jade usually get the jobs that need careful diplomacy." 

Equius blinks again (god but you like those eyes) and reaches up to toy with the think silver chain looped around his neck. "And that would be Jade..." 

"Harley. Why, do you know her?" When he doesn't respond in the negative to that, your mind immediately goes to a surprisingly predictable path...how could you miss that? Wait, no, he's hot. Never mind. "Shit. Don't tell me you're a were too?"

"Hmph." 

"Let me guess. Wolf? Panther?" 

"No." 

"Crocodile?" 

"I'm not really sure where you're getting these." 

"Your teeth, mostly. Your animal form's got to be something carnivorous, but fairly laid-back since you haven't flipped out at me yet, so..." 

He grimaces, jerking his hand away from his throat. Whatever's at the end of the chain shifts under the fabric of his shirt, moving enough for you to confirm its existence, but not enough for you to make a positive ID. With how he's touching it you know it's got to be important to him, though. "I am not a were-anything." 

"But you _are_ a shifter?" 

"I'm not entirely sure why you seem to believe I intend to give any more information to a human—" 

"Look, I'm not _quite_ a human—" 

"—let alone a hunter." 

Damn, he does have you there. "Again, I'm not that kind of hunter. Think more animal control slash emergency services, less bigoted manhunters." 

"So you say." 

"That's not fair." Then again, you do have at least two things you could probably kill him with on you right now, which...doesn't exactly breed trust. And you'd really like him to trust you. That's the goal here. 

So. 

Equius opens his mouth as you bend to set the bags on the ground, but snaps it shut again as you straighten up, pull your shades off, and toss them to him. He does catch them (which is nice, since you don't have a backup pair with you) and glances down at the doubled triangle of darkened plastic for a moment before looking back up to you. 

You get a completley irrational flash of satisfaction at the glimpse you get of his purely bewildered expression. It'd be nice to get _more_ than a glimpse, but you're already halfway through the motion of pulling your shirt off over your head, and it'd be awkward to stop, even if finishing means cutting off your line of sight to him for a moment. The shirt gets dropped on the pavement; the two knives strapped flat against your sides just above the waistline of your jeans john it a moment later, once you get the harness undone. Your phone you're more gentle with—replacing a cracked screen is more of a headache than you plan to give yourself today—but it ends up on the ground as well. Despite the fact that today's footwear is a pair of beat-up converses that you "borrowed" from Dirk rather than anything useful for concealing further weapons in, you toe your shoes off anyway, nudging them into place side-by-side next to the rest of your belongings. 

That accomplished, you look back up at Equius and spread your arms, showcasing your obvious lack of weaponry. "I can take the jeans off too." 

"Please do not." He shakes his head, hesitating for a moment before succumbing to the (totally understandable) urge to check you out. Maybe he likes what he sees, because you see his eyes linger on your torso. "...those aren't really tattoos, are they?" 

"What?" Oh, right—the red tracery running across your left shoulder and that side of your chest and back. You drop your arms again, reaching up to run your fingers across the barely-raised lines. "Well, there's an entire metaphysical explanation for it...but what it boils down to is that my body isn't every really going to forget that I started my life stored on a stack of circuits." 

"You. You what." 

"I did tell you I'm only sort of human." 

"Yes, but I assumed you meant you were a cambion. Or something." 

"Oh. No." 

"I don't think I understand what you are." 

Time to bring out your most winning smile, the one that would irritate the hell out of your dear brother were he here right now. "How about I tell you mine and you tell me yours?" 

Equius considers that, turning your shades over in his hands for a moment or two. Then he steps forward and holds them out to you, waiting until you close the distance and take them back. He gives you a small, controllled smile that makes you think that he knows _exactly_ the implications his words will have, and says, "I think it might work better if I show you mine, and maybe a bit later I take a more in-depth look at yours. Somewhere a bit more intimate." 

Oh yes. Oh _fuck_ yes. But you keep your nearly-neutral smile on your face, your tone level as you answer. "I think that works for me, yes." 

Instead of continuing the discussion, Equius just nods and steps back again, off the edge of the parking lot and into the margin of grass around it. He reaches up and wraps the silver chain half around his hand, drawing the pendant on the end out from under his shirt, letting you see that it's a simple silver ring, maybe three inches across. It looks almost familiar, you think, but you don't have time to run down exactly _why_ it's familiar before Equius closes his eyes and the reality of this particular dollar store parking lot shimmers, warps, and _changes._

You should not get dizzy except under certain very specific circumstances that are definitely not present here and now. Nevertheless, trying to watch him is dizzying enough that you stagger and grab for the support of the truck, shaking your head and blinking furiously until your vision stabilizes enough to see him. 

He's not there, of course. Not like he was before. What's there instead of the tall guy in the sleevless shirt is not a wolf or a big cat, not any of the predators you might have expected, but...a horse. 

Definitely not a normal horse, though. He's taller than you at the shoulder, more delicate than you'd expect from a draft horse but bigger than anything else you can think of. His coat's black as his hair, his mane just as intricately braided; the patinaed silver chain looped over his neck stands out against the dark background. The bridle it's attached to is the only tack on him. 

Equius whickers and takes two steps forward, lowering his head and pulling his lips back to let you get a look at very obviously carnivorous teeth. It should be intimidating, probably, but your instinct is still to reach up and lay a hand on his muzzle. 

Warm. He's still warm, soft as velvet. Your hand looks tiny and pale against his face—god, you are _absolutely_ overwhelmed. Almost too much to even try to work out what he is. 

The operative term here is _almost_, though. The routines in your head whir through possibilities and return a fairly definitive answer without much effort on your part. 

"Kelpie—an aquatic variety of demon, most commonly found in equine or quasi-equine forms. Most document cases include semi-fae characteristics and mannerisms, including the consumption of human flesh and—" 

Equius snorts out a hot breath against your arm. It's not nearly enough warning for you to properly brace yourself for the warping effect his shapeshifting has on your equilibrium; you nearly fall, prevented only by his hand on your free arm. 

"I don't eat humans," he says as he steadies you, not making any move to pull your hand away from where it's still pressed to his cheek. "Not often. Not without reason." 

"I think we're on the same page there." Strictly speaking, you've never eaten anyone. However, pointing at a corpse and asking Karkat to deal with it probably counts as cannibalism by proxy, so. Yeah. "Does this mean I get that ride? And maybe your number?" 

Equius just laughs and reaches up to pull your hand down from his face, bending to scoop up your belongings before slinging his arm around your shoulder to pull you towards his car.

* * *

He gives you his contact info the the ride back home; you save it to your phone and also store it in the place in the center of your mind that will probably continue to hold the information you consider indispensible long after your apparent death. At his request, you also add yourself as a contact in his phone; that little detail turns your hope that this is going to become something right back up to twelve. 

You're not sure how much of that hope you're showing. You're not sure how much of that hope you should _allow_ to show. 

"Park on the curb," you tell Equius as he slows the car at the sight of the safehouse. "Yes, I know there's room in the driveway, but trust me on this one. You really need to walk in the first time." 

He thinks that through as he pulls the car up with a care that's nearly scientific. Not until he's pulled the keys off and clips them to a belt loop does he give his analysis. "So it's warded?" 

"I _did_ tell you this was a safehouse. Don't worry—it'll take me about thirty seconds to flag you as a friendly. It'd take Dirk forty-five. Anyone else, a minute and a half." 

"Still. A lot can happen in thirty seconds." 

Good point, but. "Are you planning to kill anyone here?" 

"...no?" 

"Great. Then all you need to worry about is covering your ears." You flash your most winning smile again, lean back to retrieve your purchases, and hop out to head for the house. 

There is a moment when you wonder if he'll follow, or if you're about to hear the car start behind you, the sound of the engine revving as he pulls out. You wonder if this is it, for a moment—then the door slams, and he's at your side again. 

_Nice._

The wards prickle against your skin as you pass through them—you've felt it enough times that it barely even registers anymore. The magic knows you; your energy's been keyed in almost since the moment Dirk created you. All the sensations means is that there's a normal reaction between your personal magic and what's been set into place around the safehouse. 

It does not know Equius. He's a step behind you; you stop when you feel the tingle of the wards, brace yourself to dive into the database...

The dual-pitched tone of the alarm starts, Equius grimaces and claps both hands over his ears in a move that's more reflexive than useful, and you close your eyes, letting yourself drop into the mix of magic and technology that's uniquely suited to your talents. And it is a drop. It's like falling. 

Or floating. Or flying. It's black shot through with red and teal, connections and digits that are not quite as they should be thanks to Equius's presence. You grab for specific familiar threads, rearrange ones and zeros to create a new entry on the list of allowed signatures, cut off Dirk's access to the network just because you can, and pull back up out of the datascape. 

The siren stops as you open your eyes. You check your internal stopwatch and grin at Equius. "Twenty-six seconds. You can take your hands down now." 

He gives you a dubious look, not moving to do that. "You're sure about that." 

"Scout's honor." Technically you were never young enough to be part of that sort of thing, and Dirk was a bit busy when _he_ was that age, but that doesn't stop you from raising three fingers in the traditional salute. "Come on—let's go get you greenlit by the biological components of the household, shall we?" 

Equius looks at you like you're spouting nonsense—which you guess you are, at least a little bit—but, again, he follows you. And you feel that sensation that isn't quite an emotion in your chest, something positive and irrational and so, so human. 

This is going to work out. You know it is.


End file.
